Emptiness is a petty feeling, an accompanied feeling, not a lonely or longing one at all. Nothing is unfamiliar or frightening, just comfort in the known. A predictable glimpse,  loss of eye contact to the past, to a photograph or to a memory. A close memory to my heart, a memory that causes slight cringes when experienced, yet the urge to do so overwhelms my senses, just a minute away. The thought of afterlife is present in my dreams and images of family burst across my eyelids. I am an example of living decay in the winter times, an example of seasonal illness. Seclusion in memories is all I ask for, to be left behind in the foregone. Where smiles were bright, where sunshine wasn't a burden to bear. Where clothing change happened according to social standards, where birds sang. Where my family was one, and full. When I was full, when I could eat, when I could smell, when my limbs weren't dead weight. Pull me out one of these years, sedative free.